


Back on the Block - Part Two

by JoansGlove



Series: Smoke Gets In Your Eyes [5]
Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:00:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28069689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoansGlove/pseuds/JoansGlove
Summary: A title does not define who you are. Sometimes the only thing separating the inmates from their warders is a uniform.Joan knows that. Brenda knows it too. And - as much as she doesn't want to admit it - so does Vera.As it has been said many times before, principles only ever turn out well for those that can afford them
Relationships: Joan Ferguson/Brenda Murphy
Series: Smoke Gets In Your Eyes [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1976404
Comments: 11
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

The illicit cigarette illuminated her face with its flare of red and it sizzled in the cool night air as Brenda sucked in a lungful of smoke, savouring its thickness as it flowed over her tongue, and she thought about Joan. Without any prompting the job of watching her had fallen into her lap – Vera was still looking for information but this time around she wanted to make Ferguson uncomfortable too, so what better way than giving her a guard that she thought she didn’t like? It was a good job Vera didn’t know what was really going on, she thought with a small chuckle. But even after all this time out of Sinclair Joan still wasn’t okay and it made Brenda feel better knowing that for at least part of her day she could be there for her. It was almost as if Joan was two people in one skin, she reflected – not that she was ready for the rubber room again or anything like that – but she could see the effort Joan sometimes had to put in to being relaxed around her. She hoped that going back into general after all this time in isolation would help sort her out, give her a bit of relief from being watched 24/7 – after all, that sort of treatment had to fuck you up after a while.

But it had been a tense few minutes as she’d escorted her to H5 even though the women had stood back as Joan sailed forth, striding down the corridor with a stony expression of grim foreboding. And despite the danger, Brenda couldn’t help but be charmed – the hide of that woman was truly impressive – but all it would have taken was for one of them to break ranks and it’d have ended in bloodshed. As the fight in the yard proved only too well: whatever had gone down in the Laundry obviously hadn’t been enough for some of them. Proctor was a weak Top Dog, she thought with a _tcha_ of disdain and flicked ash onto the roof below, and without her in the yard to keep them in line it had all kicked off.

Novak’s lunge at Joan hadn’t worried her (actually, she’d half-wanted Joan to smack her one with that homemade cosh of hers, although her hand had done just as well) but when the others joined in she’d called for back-up. By the time they’d arrived though, Ferguson pretty much had everything under control; the women game enough to have a go were too dumb to co-ordinate their attack and, individually, none of them were her equal in a brawl. She had moves way beyond anything they taught at the Academy and took a punch better than some men. Watching Joan fight had been an exhilarating privilege. She went through those women like a machine, savage and sublime. The way she lifted Novak by the neck and headbutted her had been simply magnificent – like a brutal ballet. And then for her to challenge the rest of them… It had left her breathless. And aroused.

Maybe that’s what had given her the impulse to cheek Vera in medical when she’d been giving Joan a hard time. Shit, she’d been pricklier than a Crown of Thorns when she’d stood up for Joan, she thought, and Brenda expelled a short, mirthless chuckle at Vera's vindictiveness – trust her to assume Joan had started it just because she’d been the one to finish it. 

The stairwell door creaking made her look up. “That you, Linda?” she called. The torch beam moved out of her eyes and she made out Vera's tiny silhouette wiggling towards her along the catwalk. “Shit,” she muttered and took a last drag of her cig, ditching it in the can as Vera clattered to a stop in her Governor heels. She was for it now. 

“So much for the prison smoking ban.”

She pulled a guilty face and offered Mighty Mouse a half-arsed apology. “Sorry, Governor.” She might as well not have bothered, Vera evidently had something else on her mind because she was wearing that pinched, righteous expression she always did when she had a bee in her bonnet.

“Novak's apparent overdose,” she said without any preamble. “What can you tell me about it?”

“Novak?” What the fuck did Novak have to do with anything?

“You were covering the Medical Holding Cells at the time, correct?” Brenda stared at her, puzzled. “Did you or did you not take over Mr Stewart's shifts?”

She cast her mind back. “Ah, yeah, yeah, that's right. He asked me to swap with him. Why?”

“You let Ferguson out of her cell.”

“What?!”

Vera rattled on. “You gave her access to the showers to assault Novak. You then wiped the footage from the hard drive.”

“No way!”

“What is your association with Ferguson, Ms Murphy?” she asked waspishly.

Shit! What had Vera heard? “I don't have one,” she replied as dismissively as possible.

“I don't believe you.”

“I babysat her when she got here from Sinclair, remember?” Like the bitch doesn’t remember, she thought, the power trip she was on, ripping up Ferguson's letter – the letter she’d given to her instead of posting…

Vera's eyes narrowed “Perhaps you got a little too close to her for comfort.”

Was that jealousy gleaming in those baby blues? Be funny if it was. She might as well come clean though, she thought – Vera was only going pull up the CCTV and the log of all her swipe card activity anyway so there was no point in getting caught lying as well. “Look,” she sighed, and bit the bullet. “I took a couple of smoko breaks during that shift. I wasn't watching her the whole time.” That wasn’t what Vera wanted to hear and, from the disgusted look on her face, Brenda knew that this was going to get her a written warning, she could just tell.

“How many times have you left your post for a smoko break?” Vera gave her another withering look and Brenda had no time to answer before she snapped: “Get back to work!”

Her cheeks flamed red and she skirted around the Governor, kicking herself for getting caught like this and feeling more than a little apprehensive at Vera's snide allegations about Novak’s OD. If Joan was responsible (and she wouldn’t put it past her) then it had been somebody else who’d let her out to do the dirty, but finding out who just to save her own skin would saddle Joan with an assault charge, if not worse. No, she was going to have to weather this one out as best she could, although it couldn’t hurt to ask Joan for a few pointers on how to handle Vera.

  
*****

She didn’t like the layout of H5; too many cells to walk past to reach Joan's, too many chances for prying eyes. Not that it mattered tonight because Joan was already waiting for her, sitting in the dark like some ghost, and before Brenda could even turn the key Joan was at the gate. She scraped past Brenda, fingers trailing over her midriff as she eased into the dim corridor. “Where are we going?” she murmured as they cleared the units. “Not the conjugal suite?”

“Christ, no!” Brenda murmured back and shuddered. “There’s more jizz in there than a fertility clinic, not that any of those scrubbers care as long as they get their root.” That amused Joan and they shared a comedic grimace of distaste.

“So where then?”

“I’m taking you to the boiler room. You can squeal all you like in there and you know we won’t be heard.”

Moving through the prison Joan noted that the cameras along their route had been adjusted to afford them privacy, and she smiled at Murphy in admiration of her forethought and planning.

“Vera thinks you hot-shotted Novak,” Brenda mentioned casually as they turned into the final approach.

“She hasn’t any proof of that.”

“She’s accusing me of aiding and abetting. Reckons I might be under your spell.”

“Well, you are, aren’t you?” she asked slyly, and added: “Loved how you sassed Vera by the way.”

Brenda wanted to grin but shook her head instead. “No, but seriously though, if she says I let you out isolation and I can’t prove that I didn’t, what’s to stop her saying I gave you the smack as well?” Her eyes grew large beneath furrowed brows. “Double whammy.”

Brenda looked truly worried. The words _Collateral Damage_ flashed into her mind and Joan felt suddenly ashamed. “She can’t prove anything because you didn’t _do_ anything,” she reassured her. “Just as she can’t prove that I did. No, she’s just annoyed because you sided with me this afternoon, and because she couldn’t slot me again. But still, you should take care around her, she’s as sneaky and vindictive as they come is our Miss Vinegar TiTs. I mean, you’ve just got to look at my situation...”

Brenda filed all of this away with a nod. “Hand looks sore,” she remarked as she unlocked the plant room door.

Joan looked down at her scraped and swollen knuckles. “It is,” she agreed lifting it to the light and straightening her fingers with an effort. “In fact, there’s some other places that you can’t see that are pretty sore too.” She pursed her lips teasingly and Brenda’s sudden grin widened at the naughty glint in her eye.

Vera had made sure they’d been separated following the scuffle and, whilst Brenda was sure that she was okay, Joan had been on her mind all evening. The bruise high on her right cheek was starting to come out and it framed her eye like red and purple comma and Joan winced softly as she touched it. “In that case I’ll go easy on you.”

“Oh, I sincerely hope not,” she murmured and stepped inside.

The fight had left her with a gnawing agitation that slithered and coiled beneath her natural elation. She was proud of her performance, proud of her strength and her wit and her evident superiority. Not many women could say they’d stood victorious in a ring of fallen adversaries as she had. But once upon a time her adversaries fell in far less bloody ways – victim to personal or professional tragedy that laid them low and removed them from her path. All victory came with its own euphoria but this time there was something else too, this time it came with a deep, hot ache in her core, a sensation of something inside that needed to scrape its way free. Maybe, she thought as she looked at Brenda, maybe this new, unsettling feeling was because she was here – someone to share it with, someone who knew that life wasn’t fair and took her pleasure where she could.

The door had barely shut before Joan seized her and kissed her. Her tongue rippled against the cuts inside Joan's cheek and she tasted blood as her lip opened up again but Joan didn’t seem to notice as she squeezed her breasts and pushed her against the door. “Not so fast, Romeo,” she laughed and ducked beneath Joan's arms, grasping her fingers and leading her into bowels of the plant room. The low hum of machinery masked their footsteps and, shortly, the torch beam revealed an almost empty corner with two tatty chairs and some plastic veg crates stacked up to create a makeshift table, and Brenda flicked a couple of switches on a panel making lights stutter into life at either end of the long room – the best Wentworth had to offer in the way of mood lighting. “Okay,” she chuckled and turned back to Joan, loosening her collar and tie. “Now you can kiss me.”


	2. Chapter 2

Joan's hot tongue thrust into her open mouth and she trembled as large hands slipped over her breasts and a thigh forced itself between her legs. “Ohh, fuck!” she breathed, lips trailing down to Joan's velvety neck. Joan Ferguson was like a dangerous drug, each exotic taste expanded her senses and left her wanting another hit, and she moved against her, seeking to quell her craving. Joan's low voice seemed to comb through her brain as she murmured: “I want to fuck you so badly it’s driving me mad. Being so close to you all day and not able to look at you, at these –" she squashed Brenda’s soft tits together making her underwires creak, “Or this –" her hands flowed to Brenda’s hips and around her buttocks and she gave a soft moan. “You brought it then?” she asked, fingering the familiar outline of a harness beneath the tight fabric of her skirt. Her eyes sparkled.

“Yup.”

“Where’s the rest of it?” She stroked the baton hanging from Brenda’s belt and cocked a suggestive eyebrow.

“Where d’you think?” She nodded down to her crotch and grinned dirtily. “It’s a wonder I can still walk.”

Joan laughed in dirty delight and waltzed her over to a stand of insulated pipes, hands returning to roam over her tightly packed tits, thumbs pressing into her nipples as her thigh resumed its place between Brenda’s. Ohhh… the pressure of Joan's leg against hers felt so good and Brenda tugged her skirt up to make it feel even better, making herself groan raggedly as the base of the dildo brushed the long muscle of Joan's thigh. Then hands busied themselves at her waist and she felt her belt slip away. “Why do you insist on wearing this thing?” complained Joan as she peeled Brenda’s sweater up her ribs.

“Saves on the ironing, doesn’t it?” Brenda replied, voice muffled by the dense knit, and Joan shook her head with a snort of laughter and kissed her smile as it reappeared. Brenda’s palms burned her skin as Joan laid them on her breasts and undid a shirt cuff. She paused to caress the soft skin of Brenda’s inner wrist before attending to the other, then made short work of the rest of the button; and then she faltered – silently worshipping the enticing sight of black lace against silken skin as white cotton fell to the floor. Her mouth covered Brenda’s and her thumbs found the hard nubs of her nipples again, and she leaned into her as the other woman’s hips rolled and hot hands crept inside her robe and down the back of her pyjamas.

Whilst she was never going to complain about Joan Ferguson grinding against her she could really do with things speeding up a bit. She hadn’t been joking about barely being able to walk. “Look, Ferguson, are you going to fuck me, or what?” she demanded hoarsely.

“What do you think I’m doing?” replied Joan peevishly (and almost as hoarsely) and fumbled at Brenda’s skirt, pulling back as it slipped to the floor to reveal the webbing she’d felt. Dark fluff sprang out from behind the front shield and Joan tickled it as she slid her hand down and back in search of the fabled dildo. “Aha!” she exclaimed as her fingers found the flanged base and traced the soaking wet under-straps holding it snugly in place. “This will need to come off,” she decided and Brenda held her trembling breath as Joan reached for the ladder-lock buckles and slid the harness down her legs.

Joan let out a small sigh of longing as her palm settled between Brenda’s thighs. “Now then, what do we have here?” she mused and mapped Brenda’s sex with inquisitive fingers. Her delicate inner lips clung to the shaft and, losing herself in Brenda’s eyes, Joan bathed them in abundant wetness, making Brenda shudder in the most sensuous way. Her clit stood proud beneath its hood, and Joan took Brenda’s weight when she circled it firmly and the nearly naked woman’s knees weakened.

“You like that, yes?” she asked and circled until Brenda could hardly breathe. Then she pressed the heel of her thumb against Brenda’s clit and began to slide the thick cock in and out. “That what you were after?” Her lips curled into a sexy, satisfied smile as Brenda’s eyes fluttered shut with a groan, and she moved her hand slowly at first, then faster, watching how her lover’s face changed, finding immense pleasure in the helpless noises she made.

Sparks flew behind her eyes as the dildo moved like a piston inside her and Brenda melted at the way Joan dominated her mouth. Surrendering herself, she clung to Joan as she struggled to stay on her feet but it was no good and she found herself sinking to her knees, Joan going with her as she continued to fuck her mercilessly with her own piece. Joan's robe twisted tightly in her fingers as Brenda’s hot face pushed into her chest, muffling the broken string of curses and cries being forced from her throat, and Joan seemed to know exactly what she needed as she gripped her tight plait and separated them, forcing Brenda firmly against the pipes, holding her there with a hand on her breast, and staring into her unfocused face as she fucked her with an intensity that drove Brenda to edge of sanity. She took all that Joan could give, and then more until the relentless ecstasy – gathering mass like a dark thunderhead – filled her with a feeling of immense, grating pressure.

“I’m going to come, babe,” she grunted, her skin crawling with strange electricity at the sweet tightness inside, and her whole body began to still.

Bruised and swollen tendons complained as Joan got a fresh grip of the dildo but she angled it against Brenda’s g-spot, pushing the heel of her hand into her clit, and moved them both in gentle circles as she massaged in time to the heaving wild-eyed woman’s desperate breaths. She cradled Brenda with an arm slipped around her back, and Joan pulled the now incoherent woman to her, watching in awe as Brenda’s thick brows knitted together and her groans became shouts, and then Brenda’s eyes widened as a look of wondrous surprise filled her face and her body tensed. And as Brenda tumbled noisily over the edge, Joan experienced something akin to a communion of souls as her whole being fragmented, and it frightened her with the feeling of vastness it created. 

The beautiful torment seemed to last forever. That agonising, heart-stopping moment that stretched beyond time as she swirled within her own galaxy of coloured darkness, the sensual vacuum suffocating her as it reduced her to a flickering point of light. And then Brenda could breathe again and she surfaced, only to be pulled back into the depths as Joan softly rubbed her clit and subjected her to cascade after cascade of brilliant sensation. Even when Joan stopped and pulled her into her embrace, Brenda’s body continued to shudder of its own accord, her empty cunt clenching as aftershocks wracked her shattered senses and, dazed as she was, Brenda felt the tug of desire building as she breathed in her lover’s scent.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to KryssiKakes whose kontent feeds my soul

Joan dusted adoring little butterfly kisses across the flushed face cradled into her neck but, instead of wanting to cuddle up with her, Brenda had other ideas and she reached for the harness and got unsteadily to her feet. Face to face with Brenda’s unruly bush, Joan stared at the damp forest and, stripping off her compression glove, tweaked a long curl, making Brenda slap her mottled hand away. She tugged at another strand and got another slap for her trouble. Brenda leaned down. “Leave it alone,” she warned and stepped into the cradle of black straps and, full of mock contrition, Joan folded her hands into her lap and waited like a good girl as Brenda drew the harness up her stockinged legs and cinched it around her hips. With a click of her fingers she pointed at the dildo and Joan shuffled forwards on her knees and fitted it into the O ring. She stared at Brenda’s fat cock bobbing just inches from her face, and then up into her eyes, and she began to milk its sticky length. The thought of having this inside her sent a long, hard pulse crawling the length of her aching slit and she scrubbed at a nipple, arching with a gasp as it sent another shockwave pulsing through her.

The way Joan's nipples poked through the thin cotton of her t-shirt titillated Brenda almost as much as if they were on full display, and she wet her lips, touching her own, loving the silky sensation as her fingertips slipped over the taut fabric of her bra. And Jesus! That combined with the way Joan was handling her cock was almost enough to send her to the floor again… She reached down and trailed the backs of her fingers down Joan's upturned face and cupped her chin, and the look that passed between them was full of urgent desire and wanting.

It continued as, lip smarting, Joan lavished long, wet licks on the heavy black rod before taking the thick tip into her mouth and sucking. She was filled with the taste of Brenda, and her bruises sang nearly as loud as her clit as she nuzzled into Brenda’s hot crotch, unable to resist dipping her head and forcing her tongue into the tangle of sticky hair bursting from the straps and deep between slippery lips to drink straight from the source.

Christ, what was Joan trying to do to her?! The sensation of hot wet tongue on her hot wet meat was like dynamite and Brenda staggered, flinging out her arm blindly as she groped for support. Shit, she needed Joan wrapped around her soon as possible! “I didn’t put this on just to take it off again, Joan,” she gasped, and shivered as Joan disengaged her tongue, sitting back on her heels to look up at her.

“Are you ever going to let me in?” she sulked, hands roaming over Brenda’s thighs.

“No. Oh, well, maybe. One day. But not today.” Joan was still pouting as she stood and led Brenda to the chairs by her cock.

In a single fluid move Joan released her ponytail, shaking out her dark mane as she gazed down her. It coiled around her face, framing her pale beauty, making Brenda swallow hard. “I’d like to see you with your hair down,” she told her and caressed the knot at the back of Brenda’s neck.

“So do it then,” she managed and stepped closer. Joan's eyes glowed, flecks of golden oak glinting as Brenda stared up at her, and they shared the same breath as Brenda lovingly traced the bewitching angles of her poor bruised face. Under the control of Joan's deft fingers her tight braid unravelled and soon her unruly curls streamed over soft shoulders, dark tendrils dancing across the slope of her tits and down her back, to be arranged just so by Joan as she admired her handiwork. “You look like a goddess,” she whispered, eyes wide and gleaming with wonder.

“Mmm, it’s the Greek in me.”

“My very own Aphrodite,” smiled Joan and kissed her.

“Yes,” she murmured, lips finding Joan's earlobe. “And as a goddess I command you to be naked.” She lifted the hem of her t-shirt, and Joan hastily shed her robe as Brenda eased it up and over her head, smoothing her fingers back down Joan’s chest with a liquid glint in her eyes. “These should have been out much sooner than this,” she crooned and her fingertips grazed Joan's nipples for a few delicious seconds, making her inhale sharply.

Joan stroked Brenda’s cock and quirked an amused eyebrow. “I was a little busy, remember?”

“I don’t care,” she replied but her words were muffled by a mouthful of flesh. She’d quickly learnt Joan's habits and twisted a hard, pink tip until it was white and, as she sank her teeth into the other and tugged, Joan's hips began to shimmy. “See?” she said around the nipple still held tightly between her teeth, and grinned, “This is why your gear should’ve come off straight away.”

“But,” she gasped, “If that had happened I wouldn’t have got to fuck you first. And that’s no way to treat a goddess, is it now?”

She pushed Brenda into a seat and let her ease her pyjamas to the floor. Standing in front of her, feet planted squarely apart, she opened herself up. “Look what you’ve done to me,” she ordered. Heat flashed through Brenda as she did as she was told and she licked her lips at Joan's pinkness - there wasn’t an inch of Joan Ferguson that wasn’t beautiful. “Just look how disgustingly wet I am!” she accused and two fingers slipped into her hidden depths, glistening slickly as she withdrew them and held them out as evidence of her arousal. “You know, there should be a law against hot COs tormenting poor, deprived women like this,” she taunted, and coated Brenda lips in her essence as she straddled her.

Fresh bruises decorated Joan’s body, scratches and scrapes; finger marks patterned her arms like petals – some from the fight, some from being dragged away – and Brenda playfully traced a spray and raised seductive eyes to Joan’s. “Deprived? Don’t you mean depraved?” she drawled with a lazy smirk, and ghosted her fingernails up the pearly skin of Joan's inner thigh.

“You can only hope,” whispered Joan into her hair and she sank down the length of Brenda’s cock with a drawn out _‘Ohhhhh!’_

Brown eyes met green with a look intense enough to burn down the whole prison. She barely moved at first, just tiny rotations of her hips; slow, oh so slow, forehead pressed to Brenda’s, savouring the languid sensation, the luxury of the moment as surging tremors of bliss fluttered through her being. Her right hand curled around the back of Brenda’s neck and she caught the beat of the woman’s heart with her left, the vee of her thumb and forefinger framing the hollow of Brenda’s throat as she began to move faster. Brenda shuddered as fingers buried themselves in her hair, moulding to her skull and Joan kissed her on the forehead, her eyelids, her cheeks before those soft and luscious lips finally found their way to her mouth and her tongue worked its way in with teasing little sweeps. And, as she slid her arms up Joan's lithe back and held her close, Brenda felt something give inside; it was as if some part was bleeding from her soul, through their joined skin, and into Joan’s. And although she didn’t know it, somewhere deep down it registered that this was something that had never really happened before, and that it was important.

“Oh Joan,” she breathed, and bent her mouth to ivory breasts as Joan leaned back and cradled her head to her chest, “Ohh, Joan…” She plucked at Joan's nipples with her teeth, eliciting deep groans of delight from the woman in her lap, and Joan surged against her, holding her tighter as her long thighs flexed and she began to ride her cock in earnest, pumping her hips as a musical note coloured her heavy gasps – not quite a moan, never a cry, but it was there just on the edge of hearing. Brenda bit into Joan's tits, not caring that she could hardly breathe for delectably soft flesh as she delivered sharp little nips to their heavy swell, and Joan responded with a change of rhythm as her body answered Brenda’s adoration. 

At some point Joan pulled back and gazed down at Brenda; the marks on her breasts were the same ruby hue as the red of her lips and she thought the sight of this woman chewing at her nipple the most erotic thing she’d ever witnessed, and she lifted Brenda’s face and kissed her in a fury of worship. And as Brenda’s tongue subdued hers, her blunt fingers found the lush forest between Joan’s straining thighs and Brenda stroked the peak of her hard clit with her thumb. It was as if a door had been blown off its hinges and Joan froze as she tried to absorb the sensation, quivering with broken breath as it spread through her belly like wildfire. “Oh my god,” she rasped, “Don’t stop that, whatever you do, don’t fucking stop!!”

It was impossible to describe just how hot Joan was right now, and as Joan's excitement grew so did Brenda’s. The way Joan was moving on her cock was driving her crazy as her neglected clit jostled teasingly between slippery outer labia, aching for attention within its trap of flesh and straps, and she spread her legs wide, bracing herself against Joan's enthusiastic gyrations as she tried to find relief. Joan shifted with her and, as Brenda began to rock against the hard seat, her urgent, high pitched groans filled the air. “Ohhhh!! Ohhhh ffffuckkkkkkkkk!” she cried, burying her face in Brenda’s unruly mane as she clung to her shoulders. Her rushing blood fairly sizzled, delivering its tingling caress with every beat of her heart and her skin buzzed – as if the shining sensation that she felt inside was leaking through her pores to coat her in electricity. She’d never known that it could be like this, that she could feel so close to someone, that one person could cause this heart-stopping, breath-taking, mind-blanking sensation within her that divorced her from all that she had been and turned her into this creature of pure pleasure. 

The smack of skin on skin cut through the sounds of their lovemaking as Brenda grabbed at Joan’s arse, filling her hand with a velvety cheek, slapping it as Joan gave a start and whimpered loudly in her ear. The explosive way Joan responded to the clumsy spanking that followed was startling and Brenda found herself arching into her, her tormented clit thrumming with an new insistence that made her grind all the harder and throw herself into Joan as a heralding ache built.

She could tell that Joan was getting close by the way her handsome face creased and she pushed erratically against her chest with her damaged hands, how she began to ride her with measured thrusts, slowing as all of her frantic urgency began to distil into that perfect moment before release. Joan’s laboured movements persuaded Brenda’s hips into a heavy roll and, as Brenda rubbed at Joan's clit, she imagined Joan's fingers on her own and jerked as her whole cunt tightened like a fist, making her eyes flutter back in their sockets.

Hot fingers caressing the back of her neck made Joan shudder before they curled tightly into her hair, and then Joan found herself tilting backwards as Brenda fucked her hard and slow, her thumb circling her clit in time to her hips as she coaxed her towards the point of no return. She heard her own broken shouts of affirmation as a darkly gleaming wave spread out from her cunt, and she was taken by a series of mighty jerks that made the chair legs squeak on the concrete floor as she bucked and barked before Brenda gathered her in her arms and sank back, pulling her tight as she collapsed, insensible, in the whirling afterglow.

Really, Joan was too tall to be snuggling into Brenda’s neck but she was giving it a red hot go, and Brenda gently grazed the long curve of her back, feeling Joan's eyelashes catch in her hair as she blinked contentedly. The tender silence stretched out as Joan's trembling subsided, and Brenda nuzzled her silky hair as she mused on the beauty in her arms.

“Ah-ahh-ahhhh…” she shivered and looked down at Joan's fingertips skating around her nipple. It pushed tightly against the silky black bra cup, aching as it grew harder and harder under Joan's strengthening attention.

“How’s it holding up?” She asked, touching Joan's inflamed knuckles.

“Pretty good, I’d say,” she replied and gave a tweak by way of demonstration.

“And your other sore bits? They doing good too?” asked Brenda when she had breath again.

Joan gave a slow roll of her hips and her carmine lips curled into a lazy smile. “Yeah, I’d say they’re doing _very_ well, thank you.”

“Glad to hear it,” replied Brenda shakily, and she reached behind and unfastened her bra. Joan may be feeling all sleepy and affectionate but she wasn’t. Those little flicks of her nipple stirred the dull ache of disappointment that had settled in her cunt and, with Joan’s circling hips putting pressure on her rod like that, it began to flutter, turning the ache into a deep demanding throb that she had no intention of ignoring.

A sinuous shiver twisted through Joan as she cupped Brenda’s naked breast in her hand. Heavy and soft, it yielded to her gentle squeeze, hard nipple catching between her fingers as Brenda gave a low moan and shifted beneath her. She squeezed harder, combing dark brown curls from Brenda’s cheek as she brought her face to hers, and Joan's grip tightened in Brenda’s hair as their lips brushed. Then a devilish look appeared on her face and she slowly stood, gasping as the hot cock slipped out, and she snatched up her robe, spreading it out on the concrete floor and bundling Brenda’s sweater into a pillow of sorts. She flashed a happy grin at the way Brenda was ogling her and lay down, beckoning her over. Brenda needed no invitation and was already on her feet but at the sight laid out before her she had to take a moment, pulling on her thick, heavy piece as she stood over Joan and drank in her gorgeousness. Joan stared up at her, a wordless command in her dark eyes and, knees complaining as they hit concrete for the second time that night, Brenda settled between those long, creamy thighs – god, what she wouldn’t give for a bit of carpet or something!

Like snakes, Joan’s legs wrapped themselves around Brenda’s hips and the dildo slid effortlessly inside her, forcing a deep gasp from both women as they began to move against each other. Brenda quickly found her stroke and began to fuck Joan hard, but whilst it was good for Joan it wasn’t so good for her because she just couldn’t catch the angle to please her needy clit. Peeling herself away from Joan's rippling belly she eased her knees to her shoulders, sinking deeper into her molten cunt as she drew a leg up. “Oh god, yes! fuck me, you bitch! Come on!” shouted Joan and she brought her legs together, hips lifting as Brenda eased into an uncomfortable kneel and yanked her closer, pounding her tight channel and clamping Joan's thighs to her soft middle.

She rubbed her hot cheek against Joan’s leg, scraping her hair off her face as she watched the woman beneath her writhe and start to arch from the thin fluff of her robe, eyes as wide as her lips as her damaged hands roamed her body. Ignoring the pain in her knees and the burning in her thighs, Brenda levered Joan's legs away from her sweating body and brushed her shining clit as she angled her hips to the ceiling. It was all too much for Joan and with just a few light sweeps of Brenda’s fingers she was coming again, legs flailing out of Brenda’s grasp and around her body, crushing her ribs between her thighs as she curled around the paralysing pleasure.

Brenda was almost crying with desperation as she ripped off the harness and threw herself on top of Joan. Grabbing her hand, she rammed it between her legs, grinding her clit into Joan's stiff fingers with a torrent of noisy gasps and, as Joan took over, rubbing the length of her soaking wet snatch, Brenda began to shake with blissful relief. It was if she was being stroked from the inside by the sparkle of a million fiery diamonds as she melted into Joan, their glitter increasing until she was engulfed by a sweet pulse that sent her falling upwards – as if snatched by angels – prey the bold, bright quaking that lifted her free of her body.

This time they cuddled. To be fair, they were too shattered to do much more than hold each other as they recovered. But it felt nice, it felt right.

“It’s a shame that the conjugal suite is a no-go zone,” contemplated Joan as she adjusted the sweater beneath her head. “I’m getting too old for the floor.”

Brenda propped herself up on her elbow and pulled a face. “I have a nasty suspicion that we won’t be able to do this again for a bit, you know?”

“What makes you say that?”

“It’s Vera, isn’t it?” she said with dark look and pouted. “She couldn’t wait to send me over to C-Block this afternoon. I reckon she might make it might a permanent move.”

Joan regarded her for a few moments before smiling. “Well, I’m sure you can swap a few shifts around until her next crisis hits and she forgets all about you. Anyway, I like a bit of delayed gratification. Some things are all the sweeter for waiting, aren’t they, hm?” She admired Brenda’s neat arse as she rolled over and stretched across the floor to retrieve her belt, and pursed her lips as Brenda extracted a cigarette and a lighter from one of the pouches and lit up. Brenda looked at her, challenging dissent but Joan just tutted primly, shaking her head as rueful half-smile smile dimpled her cheek.

“Yeah, I know,” said Brenda with an exaggerated flick of her eyebrows, and she blew out a long plume towards the rafters. “Bad girl, aren’t I? But then, you have you ask yourself what’s so good about being good?”


	4. Chapter 4

Jackson was waiting for her on the front desk. “Governor wants to see you straight away,” he told her soberly as Brenda stepped through the metal detector.

“What for?” He didn’t reply, merely shook his head with a search me look on his face. This would be the disciplinary then, she guessed, and she gathered up her things and headed for the staffroom, heart thudding in her throat.

Vera stood behind her desk like a tin soldier but instead of a rifle in her hands there was a sheet of paper. “Read it,” she said sharply.

A frown built as Brenda ran her eyes over the print. Nasty words like _responsible_ and _lost_ and _killed_ jumped out at her. “What's this?” she asked in astonishment.

“It's a statement. It says you were negligent on the day of Bea Smith's murder. You misplaced your swipe card—” She stared at Vera, eyes wide with panicked confusion “— probably when you were on one of your unauthorised cigarette breaks,” Vera added with a smug, self-righteous wobble of her head. “Smith found that card and used it to enter a restricted area.”

Brenda pulled a face in disbelief. “But I didn't lose my card.” _More like she used yours, you bitch_.

“Really? Then how do you explain this?” Vera placed a printout of the security log on the desk. “That's the door Smith used to access no man's land with your card.”

Brenda scanned the page. It looked legit but it was obviously doctored. “Oh, no, this is rubbish!” she protested, gesturing disgustedly at Vera's ‘evidence’. “Someone's set me up.” _You’ve set me up, you cunt_.

“Well, you can try that excuse with the Board, but I highly doubt it will work. Signing this statement's the best outcome for everyone.”

“I'm not bloody signing that.” Vera could go fuck herself if she thought she was going to pin that shit on her! Joan's words rang in her ears ‘… _as sneaky and vindictive as they come_ …’ 

“Let me explain to you, Ms Murphy, what will happen if you don't. The alternative is that I contact the police, inform them of my suspicion that Ferguson gave Novak a hot shot, and that you were complicit in the assault.”

She stared at Vera in angry disbelief. “That's bullshit and you know it!” Fuck Novak for being such a smack rat and surviving to lag. Crims were all the fucking same – full of cockroach DNA. And fuck Vera for her self-serving lies. Linda had told her what Vera used to be like before Ferguson came along: weak and timid, and sneaky. She’d done well off Joan but it looked like some things never changed, eh?

“Then who wiped the CCTV? Either way, you are finished at Wentworth. Leaving your post on multiple occasions? That alone is a sackable offence.” Brenda goggled – Vera was going to sack her? She’d never been sacked in her life! “You can admit your card went missing, leave with a reprimand, continue your corrections career, possibly interstate—” She felt her face tighten. Christ, anybody would think that Vera was doing her a fucking favour instead of fucking her over. “— Or you can go out as the central figure in an attempted murder investigation with your life and career in tatters.”

Vera held out a pen. It was a battle of wills. God, she really wanted to tell Vera what she thought of her. To be accused of abandoning her post – well, fair enough, she had – but to be accused of having anything to do with Novak or Smith, of being a party to keeping Joan inside this fucking hole when they could have been together on the outside? She looked up at Vera and then back to the statement. She could take the gamble, she supposed, let the police interview her, echo Joan's suspicion, add her own unproveable ones to the mix – but if it didn’t pay off she’d be buggered. No, no matter how much it stuck in her throat, resigning under a cloud was preferable to getting the sack and ending up on remand over at the Dame Phyllis. What could she do? She hated Vera so much right now she could punch her through the fucking wall, but she took the pen. It felt as if she was signing her own death warrant.

Vera summoned Linda and together they marched her down to the staffroom. Surprise-fucking-surprise, there was Snakey Jakey waiting for them; he must have fed Vera a ton of bullshit to still be standing there. She shot him a filthy look and headed for her locker. At least she’d taken the rod home last night – last thing she needed was to pull that out of her locker and drop it into her see-through satchel in front of everybody. It didn’t take her long to clear out her stuff and she slammed her locker shut.

“Ms Miles, would you escort Ms Murphy out?”

Brenda levelled an accusing look at Vera, and the bitch just stood there and stared at her with a mean little gleam of triumph in her eye, and Brenda had the sudden urge to walk up to her and kick her in the cunt as a parting gift she’d never forget.

*****

Shift change came and went, and Joan busied herself with a spot of light dusting as she waited for Brenda to make an appearance. It was Stewart who showed up at her door.  


“I've sussed out Vera.”

“And?” she asked smugly. She could see that he was bursting to tell her. “She let Smith out, didn't she?” she said with a self-congratulatory smile.

“No. You're wrong, Joan.” The smile dropped and she felt the small muscle in her cheek twitch as she stared at him in barely disguised shock. “I'm 100% certain Vera had nothing to do with it,” he said, evidently pleased with the effect this bit of news had on her, and he shrugged and strolled back from whence he came. Every muscle in her face tightened with displeasure as she stared after him and her mind raced.

She’d passed a good hour ruminating on this turn of events and she still wasn’t decided on her next course of action. She scowled as her cell door opened and she realised that it wasn’t Brenda. “Why are you here?” Linda gave Joan her own serving of stink-eye and ordered her out of her cell. “Is there something you want?” she asked Miles coldly.

“Get up, your solicitor wants you to phone her.”

“Where’s Murphy? Thought it was her and Stewart that had pulled the short straws?”

“Murphy’s gone. You won’t be seeing her again.”

“Resigned or sacked?” she asked disinterestedly although her pulse banged hard in her throat.

“Smart money’s on sacked.”

Joan eyed her coolly as she rose to her feet. “And how much are you charging for that little nugget of information, hm?”

Miles’ unfriendly gaze flickered over Joan's face and she gave a small jerk of her chin, as was her habit when she thought she was being clever. “You can have that for free,” she told her with a sneer. “C’mon, get moving. I haven’t got all day.”


	5. Chapter 5

She’d had the phone for months yet in all this time she’d never actually used it to speak to Brenda, preferring instead the safety of encrypted messaging. It was cleaner, tidier… Tonight though, she needed to hear her voice. Just to know that she was okay, to let her know that she wasn’t alone. Never having had one of her own it never occurred to her that Brenda might have a social circle that she could call upon for support and, huddled under her quilt, Joan tapped in the number. Brenda picked up after four rings.

“It’s me, I heard about your misfortune.” There was a pause as Brenda sucked savagely on her cigarette.

“Fuck me!” came the muttered reply. “It’s more than a bloody misfortune, Joan! I‘ve lost my job!” she was informed abruptly. Brenda pushed her hair out of her face and began to pace her small kitchen. It was a wonder she hadn’t worn a track in the lino after a day of stewing.

“Hey now, shh,” Joan murmured softly. “It’s not the end of the world—”

Brenda almost choked mid-drag. “Don’t you ‘shh’ me!” she barked and Joan held the phone away from her ear as her lips settled in a straight line. “You know,” Brenda pointed out, voice dripping with sarcastic disbelief, “Most people’s first instinct would be to say _Oh no!_ Or, _How awful!_ Or, _Are you alright?..._ ”

In the warm cave of her quilt Joan swallowed tightly at Brenda’s criticism. “But of course, it goes without saying that the situation must be upsetting for you,” she explained in hurt surprise. “I know just how you must be feeling—” Her words were drowned out by Brenda’s explosive scoffing.

“No you don’t!” she fired back angrily. “How the fuck could you?”

“I think I do. I too, am unemployed courtesy of Vera Bennett, remember?” She rolled onto her back and stretched out – toes poking from the bottom of the duna, dark eyes and disordered hair from out the top – staring at the dark ceiling as she recalled in acid-etched detail how that had felt. “I should imagine that you are feeling cheated and ill-used, impotent, and rightfully furious. I should imagine that you’d like to wring Vera's neck. I also expect that you are wondering where to go from here.” Brenda huffed at Joan's faultless assessment but said nothing, it irritated the fuck out of her when Joan so matter-of-factly broke down an issue into its constituent parts like that.

“So, what has the lovely Miss Bennett done exactly?”

Leaning against the counter, Brenda lifted her hair from her hot neck and sighed loudly around her cigarette. “She’s fucked me over good and proper, Joan, that’s what she’s done! She’s fucked you too. Sneaky bitch forced me to sign a statement saying I lost my swipe card, and she’s faked the logs to show my card letting Smith out to attack you. She threatened me with that Novak shit if I didn’t,” she said bitterly and took a final drag of her cig and blew out the smoke in a puff of angry despair. “And we all know how easy it’ll be to walk into another job with a reference like that, don’t we?” she snarked, and she pulled a face as she took a deep breath and let it out noisily though her nose. “But it means she can’t be linked to Smith in any way now. Which kinda blows your conspiracy defence out of the water. Doesn’t it?”

There was silence as Joan absorbed this piece of information. It had been a mistake informing Vera of her suspicion, she could see that now. She’d hungered after that look of guilty shock on her face but hadn’t fully considered the repercussions. She might regain some ground if she threw Stewart to the Police but, if she was going to be in here indefinitely, she wanted him where she could control him. Sacrificing him wouldn’t get Brenda’s job back. And it wouldn’t restore deleted files either. But she couldn’t let her own woes colour the conversation – that wasn’t what she’d called for.

“Look, if you need money to tide you over I’ll arrange something with my solicitor.”

“Is that all you’ve got to say?”

Joan pulled a face at Brenda’s ungrateful tone. “I’m sorry?”

“I said is that all you can think about, money? You think that’s going to make everything better?” Her voice burned with injustice and Joan grimaced at having unwittingly gifted Brenda to Vera's machinations.

“I, ah… No, of course not. But I feel that I’m partially to blame for all of this. I don’t want you to suffer financially.”

“Partially to blame?” echoed Brenda tartly. She listened to Joan's silence and her face grew tight. “What do you mean, Joan?” Turning around she stared at her reflection in the kitchen window, pushing her hair out of her eyes as she waited for her answer. “Joan?” she asked leadingly.

There was a time when, without a single qualm, she’d have lied her head off to ensure that she wasn’t seen as the villain of the show. But the thought of lying to Brenda made Joan feel grubby – even if the prospect of coming clean did send a prickle of shame skittering over her skin. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “I didn’t want to involve you, but you and Stewart swapped shifts on me… It was a perfect plan otherwise. For the want of a few minutes Novak would have succumbed. And nobody would have been any the wiser.” It was suddenly unbearably stuffy there under the quilt and Joan threw it against the wall, sitting up and raking her hair off her hot face as she nervously awaited Brenda’s reply.

Ah, so it had been Joan! No wonder Smith went apeshit. “Yeah well, if you were that concerned you should have told me to stay away completely then, shouldn’t you? You know, if you didn’t want me involved?” Joan grimaced at Brenda’s terseness but she knew she deserved it.

“You not interested in the why?” she asked cautiously. Brenda reached for her cigarettes and Joan heard the snick of her lighter as she lit up.

“You think I can’t spot witness intimidation when I see it?” she answered on the outbreath.

Joan couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing, she’d been expecting to have to argue in defence of her actions but Brenda seemed to be taking it all very calmly. “I, er… I thought you might have more to say on the subject…?” she said cautiously and touched her index finger to her lips in an unconscious gesture of doubt.

Brenda watched her reflection shrug. “Why? Novak’s no great loss to society. Another break-up with Smith and she’d have done it herself anyhow, bet’cha she gets back on it again now she’s had another taste,” she predicted. “Anyway, like you said, Bennett couldn’t prove anything ‘cause I wasn’t involved, was I? So I’m good on that score at least.”

It was an attitude often encountered in COs from the old school, in the good old days when a death in custody rarely raised an eyebrow. This job hardened people; working with some of the worst that society had to offer deadened them to the sob stories, to the violence, the desperation. It bred bitter disdain for the transparent lies and the schemes, the overblown outrages and wheedling attempts at ingratiation. What it essentially boiled down to was a them and us situation – and you could never let a prisoner win. That Brenda was a natural misanthropist was something that Joan found rather endearing in its own right; she’d never demanded an explanation or a denial from her of the charges involving Matthew Fletcher or Harry Smith, but what happened with Novak (whilst similar) hit much closer to home – what should have been clean and precise had turned into a tangle of unintended consequences.

But did Brenda really mean what she’d said? Joan hoped so, she really did. A queer fish in her own right, they seemed strangely suited and she knew that Brenda wasn’t the sort of woman to let a small thing like attempted murder slide just for the sake of a hot fuck (not that there was going to be any chance of that in the near future). And it wasn’t as if there was anything binding Brenda to her either, nothing damning that could impact her further after what Vera had just done… If she chose to, Brenda could cut contact and that would be it. So, she was left with just the one choice: to believe her. The thin trickle of disquiet that accompanied this realisation wasn’t from a fear of exposure or abandonment, more like it was a puff of cold air from the opening of a vault long locked. She’d had little cause to trust over the years; oh yes, she knew that there were people with integrity and honour out there but in her experience they were few and far between. Nils’ face flashed into her mind and she shook her head, trying to dispel the unwanted image. Take Vera for example: Vera was the closest thing she’d had to a friend for years and she had promised her loyalty and then betrayed her the moment someone else showed her a glimmer of interest; but Brenda wasn’t Vera, Brenda’s grasp on reality was far superior, her character steadier, her tolerance higher.

“All the same,” she said with a loaded sigh, “If I could have avoided the taint I would have.”

It had been her comments in Medical after the scuffle that had cemented Vera's suspicions, Brenda realised. Vera would had been well within her rights to inform the police of her absences during that shift, and if she had refused to sign then she had no doubt that Vera would have followed through with her threat, using Novak’s allegation and Stewart’s support to fuck her all ways to Sunday before tacking on the whole ‘lost card’ crap just like she always intended. Allied with Ferguson or not, no officer would want that hanging over them. She had been the perfect patsy for Bennett and that’s what fuelled her anger more than anything else – that she had been screwed for someone else’s gain.

“Look, I admit if it wasn’t for that then she wouldn’t have come looking for me and discovered me deserting my post – ‘ _on multiple occasions,_ ’” she mimicked. “I mean, she carried on about it being a sackable offence – but she didn’t actually sack me for it did she? She forced me to resign instead. Over something she _knew_ I hadn’t done.” The more she thought about it the more she wished she’d decked Bennett before she’d left.

“I suspect she panicked.” Joan heard Brenda pluck the cigarette from her lips mid-draw.

“Why?” she demanded sharply. “Why would Bennett panic?” Brenda pushed her fingers through her hair, gripping it tightly as her mind whirred. It was a war of attrition between those two. It was common knowledge that Bennett had reported Joan to the Board and that’s why Joan had demoted her in front of everybody as punishment – but Vera wasn’t bloody psychic, the police wouldn’t have told her about Joan's counter allegation until they’d gathered all available evidence so how could she have known? “Did you open your big mouth and say something stupid?” she asked glassily. “Is that why she pinned that card business on me? Because you had to tell her how you intended to win?”

Joan's eyes slid sideways towards the microphone in disgruntled embarrassment and she caught her lips between her teeth as she steeled herself to answer, but in the time it took her to do that Brenda had rightly taken her silence for an admission of guilt.

“Fucks sake, Joan! What possessed you? I thought you were supposed to be smart.”

That stung. Mostly because she was forced to agree with Brenda. “She… She just—” Joan ran her tongue beneath her top lip as she let herself admit what she was about to say. “She just _got_ to me, okay? All that puffed up importance, that unwarranted supercilious attitude of hers… The fucking _hypocrisy_ of it all. She got to me and... And I had to see that stab of fear in her eyes.” She paused for a second and when she spoke again it was with palpable regret. “I, I’m sorry.”

Brenda scrubbed her face in dismay. “Yeah, well your need for satisfaction’s just cost you an eight to twelve stretch. You know that, right?”

“Only if I’m convicted, Brenda. It’s a long way to my trial, anything could happen between now and then.”

For long seconds there was nothing but the sound of Brenda smoking.

Drawing her legs into the lotus position, Joan's elbows found her knees and she rested her forehead in her palm as she broke the silence. “Is this something that you’re going to hold against me?” she asked wearily. “Because if it is then I can’t see a viable future for what we have.” That’s if they even _had_ a future. She was well aware that if Vera got her way and she was found guilty then life for both of them would change out of hand, and whether they could survive whatever befell them was anyone’s guess.

Joan was right, if she couldn’t get past this then it would sit there like a speck of grit in an oyster – but it wouldn’t be a pearl that grew – and Brenda sighed heavily. “Look, it can’t be undone and at the end of the day I know it’s just a job. And I know that it’s not really your fault. But I’m not going to say that I’m not angry and that I won’t be upset about it for quite a while. So how about you give me a bit of time to get it out of my system, yeah?”

“How long are we talking here? Days? Weeks?”

She fought the urge to snap at Joan's tactless question and instead ground her cigarette out with enough force to send the ashtray skidding across the counter. “Oh, I don’t know, just… I don’t know, Joan. Just a bit of time, that’s all I’m asking for. I gave you space in the run-up to your trial, the least you can do is return the favour.”

The tone in Brenda’s voice made Joan hesitate, and she realised that she was being asked to trust her. “You’re right, I’m sorry, Brenda. Of course, you’re to take as much time as you need. And please, if you _do_ need anything you’re to contact Nina.”

Brenda flushed with the heat of relief. “Alright. I’ll speak to you later.”

And that was it, in the darkness of her cell Joan felt the shroud of loneliness settle over her once more and she sniffed back disappointment, lips pulling into a weird, duckbill-like pout as she gathered up all of her feelings and bundled them (with no small measure of regret) into a holding cell, closing the door as she cleared the phone’s history and removed the SIM.


End file.
